Ode to the Cat

It has been six months since Mike, the cat's, passing.  I think of him every day and miss him especially when Paul is away.  Mike was a being in the house with me and we were close.  Grieving his death has been muddled with my Dad's passing and sometimes I feel guilty about that happening.  As time passes the ache becomes less hurtful for both and I am starting to get mostly good memories in its place.

Recently I helped celebrate Pablo Neruda's birthday with Jami, my poet and overall very creative friend.  Guests were asked to select one poem written by Neruda to read to the small group who gathered for the celebration.  I picked this one:

Ode To The Cat -- Pablo Neruda

There was something wrong
with the animals:
their tails were too long, and they had
unfortunate heads.
Then they started coming together,
little by little
fitting together to make a landscape,
developing birthmarks, grace, flight.
But the cat,
only the cat
turned out finished,
and proud:
born in a state of total completion,
it sticks to itself and knows exactly what it wants. 

Men would like to be fish or fowl,
snakes would rather have wings,
and dogs are would-be lions.
Engineers want to be poets,
flies emulate swallows,
and poets try hard to act like flies.
But the cat
wants nothing more than to be a cat,
and every cat is pure cat
from its whiskers to its tail,
from sixth sense to squirming rat,
from nighttime to its golden eyes.

Nothing hangs together
quite like a cat:
neither flowers nor the moon
have
such consistency.
It's a thing by itself,
like the sun or a topaz,
and the elastic curve of its back,
which is both subtle and confident,
is like the curve of a sailing ship's prow.
The cat's yellow eyes
are the only
slot
for depositing the coins of night. 

O little
emperor without a realm,
conqueror without a homeland,
diminutive parlor tiger, nuptial
sultan of heavens
roofed in erotic tiles:
when you pass
in rough weather
and poise
four nimble paws
on the ground,
sniffing,
suspicious
of all earthly things
(because everything
feels filthy
to the cat's immaculate paw),
you claim
the touch of love in the air. 

O freelance household
beast, arrogant
vestige of night,
lazy, agile
and strange,
O fathomless cat,
secret police
of human chambers
and badge
of burnished velvet!
Surely there is nothing
enigmatic
in your manner,
maybe you aren't a mystery after all.
You're known to everyone, you belong
to the least mysterious tenant.
Everyone may believe it,
believe they're master,
owner, uncle
or companion
to a cat,
some cat's colleague,
disciple or friend. 

But not me.
I'm not a believer.
I don't know a thing about cats.
I know everything else, including life and its archipelago,
seas and unpredictable cities,
plant life,
the pistil and its scandals,
the pluses and minuses of math.
I know the earth's volcanic protrusions
and the crocodile's unreal hide,
the fireman's unseen kindness
and the priest's blue atavism.
But cats I can't figure out.
My mind slides on their indifference.
Their eyes hold ciphers of gold.

This poem so captures Mike's personality. He was so sure of himself, did act as if he shared the house with us and kept himself so very clean.  Neruda must have studied cats and loved them.  This poem just spoke to my need to reminisce about all the wonderfully good qualities of Mike.

We are going to get replacements for Mike.  Although one might think this was an easy decision, it wasn't.  There is something freeing about having in a pet-free home.  Taking a vacation is effortless, there isn't the constant battle with fur everywhere in the house and the daily rituals of caring are unnecessary.  But we are going for it.   In fact we found the right breeder several months ago, but like most good breeders she has a long waiting list.  We are told to expect two litter mates sometime in November or December.

We will get a pair that will have these characteristics colours (photo from the breeder's website)

Yes, we are going for two Burmese not Tonkinese like Mike.  The Tonkinese breed is a combination of the Siamese and Burmese cats; the Siamese contributes to the colouring and the Burmese to the wonderful personality.  So when Tonkinese were hard to find here in Canada, we decided to go with the personality and Burmese instead.  Plus the breeder isn't far from our home; she raises a litter or two per year in her home.  We got to meet some of her cats and found them to be just what we are looking for in a new cat.

When Mike was about four it hit us he might have had a more enjoyable life with a companion cat, but by then it was too late.  Mike would have been unhappy or the other cat would have been unhappy or we would have been unhappy so we left him rule the place alone.  Now with a fresh start we are going for two.  I told Paul we should name them Spike and Ike no matter what the genders, as a nod to Mike.  He expressed no enthusiasm about that idea and we decided he will name them.  (Mike was named after a college roommate of Paul's.  So we often made reference to either Mike, the cat, or Mike, the human.)

So yes I am sad, but there is something to look forward to as well.  Two furry kids in the house with two pensioners should be interesting, lively and perhaps at times trying.  So it will be just like it was with Mike, only times two.

Jami, thanks for asking me to bring that poem.  Neruda's Ode to the Cat was a lovely tribute to Mike as well as all cats loved by their owners.